


Belief

by intotheruins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fic, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season 11, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 08:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7751221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intotheruins/pseuds/intotheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belief is a concept Sam Winchester has always valued.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Belief

**Author's Note:**

> I DON'T KNOW. It's hot, though, so you should read it *nodnod* lol. :D

Sam can't believe this is happening.

Belief is a concept Sam Winchester has always valued. He kept it clutched close to his heart as a child; belief in his father, belief in Dean, belief in God. Over the years it was chipped away, taken from him one shard at a time. He kept finding it again for Dean, and eventually he found faith in Castiel—but after the Apocalypse, a part of him couldn't help but think that God had betrayed them, and so the last shreds of his faith were placed wholly in the people he felt he could believe in.

That was until God— _Chuck—_ was there in the room with them, sitting at their table eating Chinese take-out and bonding with Dean over porn and bacon. 

It came back to him in a rush, made him feel like the innocent boy who didn't yet know the monster under the bed was real. Dean kept teasing him, calling him fanboy and excited puppy, but Dean didn't understand. He never had faith in a higher power, except maybe Castiel. It was always easier for him to fight and scream against a creator he hadn't even known existed until he saw the shadows of wings across the wall of an old barn. 

There are questions in the back of Sam's mind, sure. Things like  _why did you leave us_ and  _are you really here to help._ He accepts the explanation that Chuck's continued involvement in the world never really helped, that humanity had to grow on their own, more readily than Dean. It's the last question he's still unsure of.

And now there's no room for it in his mind, there's nothing beyond  _this can't be happening._

Only it is. Smooth, nearly hairless, deceptively human skin is spread out under him. Sam's fingertip is tracing a line of freckles around a pec, thumb sweeping over a hardened nipple, lips parting around a gasp when the being beneath him groans and throws back his head.

Because he is a _being._ No matter how small and slight his physical form might be, he's not human.

He's God, and he's writhing in pleasure under Sam's hands.

“This isn't happening,” Sam breathes, even as he bends his head to press a reverent kiss over Chuck's heart. “This can't be happening.”

He chases the words with his tongue, slides over skin that tastes like sweat-salt. A hand eases into his hair and he shivers, arches into it and stares up at Chuck's blissed out face with wide-eyed awe.

“Will you quit stressing,” Chuck says gently. “Seriously, just pretend I'm human.”

He can't. No matter how human he tastes, or sounds, or _feels,_ there's just no way Sam can pretend he's anything but what he is.

Sam can't really remember how they got here. They were in the war room before, Chuck in his robe with a box of noodles, Sam reading, though he can't for the life of him remember which book. Chuck started tracing the bones in Sam's hand, worked his way up his arm when Sam didn't protest. He ended up with both hands buried in Sam's hair, working into his scalp and sending the most amazing tingles dancing down his spine.

Sam's about ninety percent sure Chuck transported them to the bedroom after that. He doesn't actually remember a 'yes' ever leaving his lips, but he sure as hell didn't say no, either. Didn't want to.

The only thing off about Chuck's form is his body temperature. He's too hot, way too hot, but Sam loves it. He seeks out the heat like a cat in the sunlight, rubs his cheek into searing skin and presses fevered kisses down Chuck's stomach. They're both naked, doesn't remember that happening, either, but it makes it easy to slip down and suck the head of Chuck's cock into his mouth. The heat fills him, nearly burns his lips—Sam moans and presses down, tries to take him in all the way but he hasn't sucked a cock since college, can't get his throat muscles to cooperate.

“Hey hey, easy.” Chuck's hand is back in his hair, stroking, soothing. His other hand cups Sam's cheek. “You feel really good.”

Sam's always had a thing for praise, both giving and receiving, but this. He's far too aware of where this praise is coming from, and it makes him redouble his efforts. He chokes when he goes down, but the shout Chuck releases when Sam's throat spasms around him is worth it.

“Sam, Sam, hey...” hands tug at his hair until Sam comes up to gulp down air. Chuck grins at him. “Quit trying so hard.”

“Can't help it,” Sam gasps, though he manages to grin back.

“Well, fine then, but come try that hard up here.” Chuck tugs again and Sam follows until he's laid out over him. He feels so small, almost delicate.

“What do you—“ Sam starts, only to gasp when he feels Chuck's legs wrap around his hips, tugging him in. “Oh my g—uh, sorry.”

“No using my other name in bed!” Chuck teases. He chuckles when Sam's face flames red. “Come on, big guy, show me what you've got.”

Heels dig into Sam's ass and pull him down. Sam starts to stammer out something about preparation and fuck, does he even _need_ preparation, and then he's sinking inside without any resistance, slick and easy, and Sam's shaking and burying his face in Chuck's throat, arms trembling so hard he can barely hold himself up.

He's _inside God._

“This isn't happening,” Sam half sobs.

He can practically hear Chuck rolling his eyes. “Would it help if I said pretend I'm an angel or something? You know, powerful but not... well, me.”

Sam laughs helplessly, lets his full weight drop down because fuck it, Chuck can obviously take it. He wraps his arms around the deceptively slight frame and laughs until he can't breathe, relief surging through him when he hears Chuck laughing, too.

That hand is back in his hair. Kneading at his scalp. Sam presses up against it, and wonders if it's okay to kiss him.

“It's okay to do that,” Chuck responds instantly. “You should actually definitely do that.”

So Sam does, shoves himself up on his elbows and presses the softest kiss to Chuck's lips until it devolves into something open-mouthed and hungry.

He's not sure which one of them is trying to take more from the other. He's not sure he cares.

Sam rocks forward and Chuck breaks away from the kiss to throw his head back against the pillow. He clenches around Sam, slickness and heat—Sam gasps and buries his face back in Chuck's throat.

“Come on,” Chuck says, breathless. He strokes Sam's hair. “Show me what you got.”

Belief is a concept Sam has always valued. So he chooses to believe that he's not being tricked, that this is real, that this is _wanted._ He gets himself up on all fours, leaving Chuck to cling with arms and legs, and shows him just exactly how much he's got.

 


End file.
